Thursday, 5 June 2014

Migration, Patterns and Pushlines

three questions from Matt Bryden

What am I writing about?

I have several preoccupations at the moment;
chief among them are dislocation and displacement. It seems to me that one of
the overriding images of the 20th century, and indeed our own, is
the forced migration of millions of people. I have become acutely aware of
Stalin’s labour camps in recent months, for example. There are so many people
living in intolerable situations at the moment. It’s a never-ending story. I
have recently been researching what happened to a great-uncle of mine who was
deported and detained as an alien. I am also interested in how migration
changes a person, how it affects identity and how one clings to what is
familiar. Travel, in one form or another, has always featured in my work, and
so has the sea, in particular the Atlantic, which divides the two halves of my
family. There’s an east-west theme running through my writing.

How does my work differ from others of its
genre?

I think perhaps I am more willing than most to
make a political point sometimes. This doesn't go far enough for some people.
Equally, it might go too far for others. I like patterning too, though I will
never sacrifice the poem’s intention or substance for a line ending. Every word
has to earn its place. I have been told that I write in a ‘free verse, American influenced way’ which I find odd,
because I often use slant rhyme couplets and terza rima patterns.

How does my writing process work?

Like an iceberg. Most of it is submerged. The
bit you see is me at my desk at 6 am tapping away between mouthfuls of tea. That
doesn't last nearly long enough. I usually have at least two other paid jobs to
do. However, I'm always writing in the sense that I'm observing and making
notes and listening for nuances. I'm always chewing over something. I work best
in complete stillness and that’s very hard to achieve when you’re scrabbling
around trying to earn a living and there are domestic distractions to deal with.
Left entirely to my own devices – ie. when I've booked a week somewhere remote
without a phone signal – I rise early and work through till 1 or 2 pm. Poems go
through many drafts. Some take weeks to complete, others may take months, a
year even. Some end up being completely unpicked and only a line or two
salvaged for another time. I speak the poems, too. I test them in my mouth and
my ear as well as weigh them on the page. Often writing is like being a plane
on a runway. Taxiing can take all morning and arrival at the push line for
take-off can happen suddenly, even unexpectedly. Some days the plane just taxis.
I see I've mixed my metaphors in answering this question!